Archive of the defunct AOL Journal Musings from Mâvarin (2004-2005, with intermittent postings through 1/5/08).

Sunday, May 23, 2004

Otherworld Journal Entry #8: Rani Fost

Moneldu, 5th Day of Dortem, 896 MMY

All week I've been having strange dreams, full of bright colors, odd smells and strange emotions. Maybe if I write about them, they'll leave me alone, or I can at least figure out what they mean. If I weren't already apprenticed, and if my mom would let me go--which she wouldn't--it would be time for me to travel to the holy mountains, to dream about what the Gods want me to do with my life. Maybe they've sent me the dream without my having to make the trip. If so, I sure don't know what they're trying to tell me.

I'm not quite certain, but I think it's all the same dream, or the same fragments of dreams, over and over. I don't know whether I dream every part of it every night, or in the same order, but it's all starting to seem pretty familiar.

Here's what I remember:

The first thing that usually happens is that I find a silver sword stuck in a tree along the river, almost as if the sword grew from the tree. It's a nice sword, sharp and shiny, only buried about an inch into the wood. I pull it out and put it in my pocket. (I know that's impossible, but that's what I do in the dream.) The tree comes crashing down into the river, and catches fire. Instead of putting out the fire, the whole river burns for a minute or so as flames spread through the water. While it lasts, it's very hot, and I worry that I'll burn, too.

Then I see a tengrem galloping toward me. It looks just the way I expect it to look, based on Shela's songs, except that it's wearing a green hat with a red feather in it. I pull the silver sword out of my pocket and kill the tengrem. It's easy--one stroke and its head comes off. I take the hat and put it on.

Suddenly I'm surrounded by all the people I know: Del and Crel and their uncle, Shela of course, Bil and Jord and my mother, Farni and his parents--well, everybody. I hold up the tengrem's head to show them what I've done. Instead of praising my bravery, my skill or strength or even my good luck, they all start yelling at me, as if I did something terrible. I want to ask them why they're angry, but when I open my mouth no words come out. My mother shakes her head and turns away. The others turn their backs on me, too, and walk away muttering.

In the part of the dream that usually comes last, I'm standing alone, except that I'm surrounded by nature. I can actually smell fur and feathers, from the rabbits and squirrels on the ground and the birds in the bushes and trees. I hear the movement of water over rocks, the rustle of foraging animals, wind in the trees, and the songs of birds and insects. It all feels right to me, as if this is my world, and nothing else matters. Gradually I sink into the ground, until I'm part of everything I see and hear and smell, and I don't have a body of my own.

That's when I tend to wake up, just as I've become part of nature and discovered that I don't really mind no longer having hands and feet and so on. The last thing I see, looking out through the eyes of all those birds and animals and insects, is Del, walking to where my body used to be and calling my name.

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You are looking at an archive edition of Musings from Mâvarin, the AOL Journal I wrote from Tuesday, March 23, 2004 through November 2005, and intermittently thereafter. It was my first-ever blog on any service.

The last version of the old journal's header said:

Included essays, photos, poetry, polls, trivia, rants, and weekly fiction entries from the author of the pending Mâvarin and Joshua Wander novels. This blog was abandoned in late 2005, but is occasionally revived on a limited basis. Please visit http://outmavarin.blogspot.com for my daily postings.

About Me

Author of magazine articles, trading cards, and the Mâvarin novels. Intermittently seeking an agent and a publisher. Accountant, church webmaster, ex-fanzine editor. Married since 1979, one husband, no kids, two dogs, no cats.
Email is mavarin2 at gmail.com. Home is Casa Blocher, better known as The Museum of the Weird. Welcome!